I apologise for this appalling dereliction of duty...a whole month without so much as a fleeting look in on this here poor little blogspot. However, in my defence a shed load of stuff involving cardboard has been taking place and it ain't over yet but I have now cleared a space on the floor of OUR NEW FLAT! to spend a little time updating all 4 of you on the recent tedium that makes up my day-to-day. The time will come when I will turn this blog into a resource, a positive repository of really useful information - but until that day comes you are going to have to settle for this monotonous crap. Count yourselves lucky you don't have to live it.
So let me start by saying - saving money and being able to invest (such as in a home) is over-rated. Everything feels too far, too small, too dirty or too crowded...by comparison. Warwick Avenue has become the idealised ex-boyfriend that you find yourself measuring every new boyfriend against - even though there must have been a good reason you broke up in the first place.
See I was very spoiled in Warwick Avenue and I never for one single second took it for granted. I one hundred per cent appreciated that I was living in one of London's most prestigious areas, that I was a mere stumble from the tube and that it took me 18 minutes door to door to get to work. So, with this all front of mind, I knew there would have to ensue some sort of psychological concession; an emotional resignation that I was not going to be in Kansas anymore once I moved to West Hampstead.
It's crazy. We own - finally (again), we are paying ourselves rent essentially, we no longer pay storage and we're generally better off all round - and yet...and yet.
Maybe it's the dark nights drawing in that are causing this immaturity. I'm in the best place mentally, emotionally and professionally I've been...well since I can remember. I can remember actually but the point is, it's been a long time. Sheesh. And I'm sure when the cardboard is gone and all the lights function properly and I have figured out how to work the shower - which currently only has two settings - hypothermic or broiled in your own skin - things will seems very different.
Christ on a cracker, with cheese - what is wrong with me? It's everything I've wanted since I got back to London and by the way might I remind myself that two years ago I was living in a freaking hotel near Paddington. A little perspective here. So, I take it back. It's all good. I'm just a big tool.
But not so big a tool as to bore you with the dreariness of the unpackingdetail . Let's say it was a royal ground-to-air ball ache and leave it at that.
And now, leave me please to fantasize about my old place for just a little longer.
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